


Agape On Ice

by silentdroplets



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: How Do I Tag, I hate this fic, M/M, Some pain, Yoi - Freeform, Yuri on Ice - Freeform, i hate this i hate this, i tried and i am so sorry with the result, it is mundane and boring, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdroplets/pseuds/silentdroplets
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky loves his grandfather a lot.He's crushed upon hearing the one he loves most has been hurt, and it hurts even more that he has to compete while his grandfather is in the hospital.Will the promise they make see them through, though?





	

“Grandpa, you’re not coming?”

I look down at my feet. The skates that would be the very ones to show you what I can do. The ones which will glide me through my performance smoothly, make you proud.

Yet, you’re not coming.

Again.

The first time you failed to show up was at the Rostelecom Cup, when I was so eager to show you my Agape performance - the program that I skated with you, just you in mind. And that darned pork cutlet bowl, too, because I wanted to win against him with you. 

You showed up later on at my free skate, though, and I realised you made the most delicious pork cutlet pirozhki just for me because I loved both - during my short program. 

This time, however, it’s the Russian Championships, and I can’t seem to find you.

Yakov tells me you aren’t able to come. After he says that, he looks away with an unusual expression on his face.

Lilia looks uncomfortable, too. 

It’s extremely puzzling.

So I go for my warm-up before the actual competition starts with worries clouding my mind. 

Why aren’t you coming? Aren’t you always supportive of me?

I skate and skate, testing out the ice and doing a few crucial jumps - ignoring the simpler triples because why should I care about them - while trying to ignore the crazed screams of my fans. Fans. Annoying as hell, ugly shits, but I’m not going to complain since that means I’m well-received. 

Still, irritating.

All I want, though, is your usual warm shout of “ _ya veryu v tebya, Yuratchka_ ”.

I need you to believe in me. That’s all.

I continue to skate, warming up to the once-familiar environment of the Moscow rink - after all, this was my home rink a while back. I practise a small portion of my step sequence.

The timer goes off and I skate back, ignoring Yakov and Lilia because their words aren’t as important anymore. I pull off my hood and cast my jacket aside before getting back onto the ice - I’m first to go out of the other competitors.

They’re watching me with a very concerned look. 

Weird. 

I take my position in the middle of the ice, and from the corner of my eye, I see Yakov with his ancient handphone pressed to his ear.

Eh, just ignore that, probably just another troublesome fan asking for me.

The rhythm starts and I begin to skate. Letting the beat run through my feet, letting the music flow through my skates to sing it out, and the audience cheers.

Disgusting.

The first jump is really easy, let’s be honest. A simple positioning of the edge of my blade, a take off and a spin-

And I’m back on the ice.

The audience screams, the commentators compliment the cleanliness of the jump, and I sigh to myself. Of course it’s clean - all that practice back there wasn’t just for show!

When I’m all set to do a jump combination, however, the music suddenly stops and I hear someone calling my name frantically. So I stop in a rush - getting ice all over my skates, damn it - and look around. The audience grumbles in confusion and look too.

The referee points to where Yakov is. He’s waving at me, a huger frown on his face than ever, beckoning to me, while Lilia stares at me with this stern unreadable look.

Even weirder.

I skate over to the other end and get off the ice, expecting a huge tongue-lashing from them both - probably for botching up a jump - but all I see is looks of intense worry. Yakov hands me my skate guards, much to my confusion.

“Put these on and go get your things,” he says, ushering me off. I brush his hands off.

“What’s with the pushing me off the competition?” I grumble and begin to storm back, but he pulls me back and presses the skate guards into my hands.

“Listen, Yuri,” he growls - not a good sign. “The hospital called - your grandfather’s in a serious condition right now-“

“What the hell did you just say?”

No.   
  
Hospital. Serious condition. Grandpa.

What happened to you?  
  
“What happened?” I demand for an answer, my eyes boring holes into Yakov’s. He shifts uncomfortably. Lilia joins us from outside.

“He tripped over the stairs in a rush to come over and hit his head,” she takes over, placing her bony hands on my shoulders. She gives them a shake. “This is more important than your skate, so go and see him.”

 _You bet your ass Grandpa’s more important,_ I think.

I click on the skate guards and rush off as quickly as possible, grabbing my things and handphone and jacket. This is impossible.

This is a dream.

Though, no, the ice melting in my feet is definitely cold as hell, so it’s not a dream, and god damn it, why _isn’t_ it a dream?

I get outside and pull off my skates, tossing them into my bag and getting into Yakov’s car. It’s not like yours, the smell of _pirozkhi_ , the soft cushiony feel of the seats, the one spring popping out, the calm violin music of the radio, all absent. Instead, the strong smell of Yakov’s disgusting cologne hangs in the air and the music’s definitely some strange foreign flute.

I shift in my seat as Yakov and Lilia get into the car as well, and we set off to the hospital you’re admitted to.

Grandpa. Grandpa. Grandpa. 

_Dedushka._

Please be all right.

We rush by the usual spots in the city, familiar sights all around, but instead of their usual bright appeal everything seems so dull and empty now. I can’t think properly. Everything is so wrong.

Please be all right, _dedushka_.

~~~~~~

So apparently the hospital called before my warm-ups to inform Yakov and Lilia of what happened to you, but they didn’t squeak a peep because they didn’t want it to bother me. Though, of course, when your condition seemed to worsen, we had to rush over.

That’s why I’m here, growling to myself, just constantly worrying about you in the waiting room.

Damn it all!

I’m pretty sure the fans would scream and fuss over me when I get back, because they’re as annoying as ever. But you’re important, so much more than them and their stupid commotion, and Yakov knows that. So, here I am.

The nurses finally let us into the ward. They don’t speak a word, though, and I glare at them as I enter.

There you are. You look so pained in those hard hospital pillows, the bandage wrapped tightly around your head. It hurts to see you like that. I bend over and kiss your forehead, where the wound is, so you’ll heal and wake up sooner.

You don’t do so immediately, though.

What do I do?  
  
Yakov comes to my side and watches with me as you breathe, in and out, in and out, the machine pumping oxygen into your nose. The surgery for your head seemed to do its work.

I won’t allow you to lie there forever, though.

I walk up to you and hold your hand. It’s cold. 

“Promise me something, Grandpa,” I say, trying to hold back any of the tears that dare to escape my eyes. “Once I win this skate - the one I just came from - you wake up, get it? Promise?”  
  
You don’t respond.

Yakov’s face softens and he reaches to hold my other hand. “I’m sure he’ll wake up, Yuri,” he assures me. “You don’t have to press yourself to skate, if you don’t feel up to it.”  
  
I turn around.

“I will, because it’s for _dedushka_ , it’s for him, and I want him to know that,” I shout. The nurses frown at me but no, they don’t understand, so I ignore them.

I’ll nail this skate, even if it’s difficult, even if there are quads in it I may not be able to do, even if there are people fussing over me, even if there are people better than me.

It’s for you, after all.

~~~~~~

It’s cold.

Miraculously, the referee allows me to skate my program, even after the interruption. I’m placed at the back of the teams, at the very end.

So I sit at the side to watch the other competitors. There’s this guy from another rink - he seems familiar, maybe he was in the same ballet class as me when we were younger, who cares, who knows - and he’s skating. He does a decent job at the step sequence, something like a fish in water, but with a tag on its fin.

But when he does the jump combination, my heart feels like it wants to fall out of its place. 

I mean, who does a quad-triple-triple near the end of their program?

It’s not entirely impossible, but with his small size, how does he do that? Even Viktor can’t perform such a taxing combination in the second halves of his programs. 

Damn it.

Maybe I can’t do it after all.

The ground below my feet swirls and kind of just swallows me whole and gives me that blank feeling, where I’m numb and can’t feel anything - is this nervousness? Because if it is, damn it, I can’t cope well with nerves.

That guy finishes, bows to the audience and skates off as little kids in skirts bend over to pick off the flowers and gifts from the ice.

Well, it’s my turn.

I pull off the guards on my skates and walk over to the rink, sliding onto the ice and facing the vast cold in front of me. This should be all right. Should be. 

I can’t win if I don’t pull off a perfect performance.

But, grandpa, I’ll do this for you, so you’d better wake up! 

Please?

I skate to the center of the ice and stare at my feet. Come on, feet, don’t fail me now!

The music starts and I jolt - crap, not now - and I start to move, just like how the music flows through again, but it honestly feels more like a burden than anything else. 

No, wait, no. It’s not a burden. It’s for you. Crap, crap, no, it’s not a burden, forget I said that, I’ll do this just for you.

The first jump goes well and I land back on the ice, gritting my teeth as the audience cheers. That’s good, I guess, but hey, it’s still annoying. 

The jump combination arrives for its turn more quickly than I had expected, so I brace myself for the take-off. One simple positioning of my blade, and I take off. The first quad goes well, and the next is a triple-

Crap, crap, shit, no, this isn’t happening, why did I turn my hips, why did I do that, no, no, not now-

I crash to the ice, my rear tensing up from the cold, and I try my best to pick myself up from where I had left off, but no, the damage is done. It hurts.

The worst thing is, though, I have just botched something I would have gotten great points for. I skate the step sequence with clenched jaws - it’s easy, plus, Lilia already taught me how to do it more gracefully than a certain _somebody_ at the kiss and cry. 

I start building up momentum for the sit-spin.

And here it comes.

The world around me revolves into a mix of glaring white and a mess of other colours. It takes everything in me not to throw up because, firstly, I’m going a bit faster than I’m supposed to be, and there’s you.

You must wake up.

I stop spinning like some crazed top and skate off to perform the next jump.

It’s hard to focus, especially when so many people are screaming and I can barely hear the music from the blur around me. It gets worse each time you come back into my mind.

_Dedushka, Grandpa, wake up._

_Please._

I take off - it’s a triple toe loop and it’s easy to carry out, but I nearly lose my balance and crash my face against the wall just behind me. Luckily, no one notices and they continue screaming, so I heave a sigh of relief and complete the small sequence that’s there before the next jump.

It’s supposed to be a triple Axel, but that can’t score me enough points after that horrible combination. No, something has to change.

And that’s the number of rotations.

Quadruple loop it is!

Well, no one has landed it successfully in competition in Russia before, but I’ll try, just for you, Grandpa, so promise me you’ll wake up.

Everyone holds their breath, waiting for the triple I’m _supposed_ to land.

A little turn here, and here I go-

Thank god for the jolt that blitzes through my mind the moment I feel my hips go out of position.

It’s like electricity, zipping through my head like some telepathic message just as I rotate and feel the ice disappear from beneath my feet. It shocks me out of my daze and I snap back to reality. 

 _Grandpa?_  
  
I-Is that you?

Without even thinking, I’m back onto the ice and the applause starts. The commentary gasps at the cleanliness of the landing, and the claps and cheers don’t stop even when I end my program and stay still to catch my breath.

Wow.

This was tough.

It’s cold, but the sweat rolls down the sides of my face anyway. My feet hurt. Everything’s spinning around me, even as the claps roar in my ears and everyone’s waving at me. 

I skate off the rink and rush to the kiss and cry, desperate to get my scores and get the _hell_ out of here, because the feeling’s thudding at my mind. The sparks, the electricity - building up at the back of my mind, and I know it is you. It is you, grandpa, you have woken up, and I am coming.

I have won.

I bite the gold medal with all the strength I’ve got and yell to the ceiling, to the ice, to anyone, really, and then rush off to keep all the skates and then go over to the hospital.

The car goes slow because of the ice, but I scream for Yakov to drive faster, faster, _faster_.

When we reach I burst into the hospital room and I see you.

Sitting up.

Staring at the door.

You’re awake.

**Author's Note:**

> This is possibly one of the worst fics I have ever written for the fandom, and I am so sorry for this. It's my first Yura fanfic, though, so I wanted to give it a shot.
> 
> Again, I'm so sorry for the result, but hope you don't hate me.
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr, I don't bite :D
> 
> silentdroplets, signing off.


End file.
